What He Owes
by public static void
Summary: The trial of his wife's murder went as Blaise expected, but for reasons he didn't understand completely. The result, though, was more than what he expected.


Blaise is aware of the whispers going around him as he struts down the Atrium, elegantly clothed and with an impasive face he hoped would deter them from talking to him. He did not need them even if in that moment, a few minutes before his trial, Blaise would give anything for any of his old friends to speak in his favor without money or blackmail being in the way.

He got into the lift and heard the soft, annoying music he always hated. Pansy could make more delightful melodies with her vila and, when he felt like it, Draco had the talent to keep them all awake for hours, simply listening to the tantalising notes of his harp. Blaise closed his eyes, trying to forget about either of them. Both had proved to be impervious to his constant Floo calls and his owls couldn't deliver letters to them anymore.

When the cold voice of the lift announced his arrival to the Wizengamot's level, Blaise sighed and fought the turn of his stomach, willing himself to be as strong as his mother had been during her life and even more and then stepped into Court Room Six with his chin up and his arms not shaking anymore.

People stood up when he entered, and the guards that up to that moment had remained behind him went to grab his arms. They led him to the center of the room, where a chair smaller than the one at Court Room Ten stood. Blaise received a nod from the Interrogator, a man he knew as Kingsley Shakelbolt, the Minister of Magic. Blaise smirked, though he said nothing as he sat on the rickety and uncomfortable chair; to have the Minister as Interrogator was something to be proud of. Not even his mother had gotten a trial with him...

"First court session of the twenty-ninth of October, into the murder of Peristeria Avery, of twenty-one years old was found dead in her home by her sister Heliconia Avery and Heliconia's wife, Serena Fawley."

The whispers of the people around him died when the Interrogator spoke, and Blaise's heart sped up, though he couldn't know if it was from fear or excitement.

"The suspected killer, Blaise Rouen Zabini, of twenty-seven years old and husband of the victim, was acussed by the victim's sister, Heliconia, on the basis of being the sole inheritor of Peristeria Avery's fortune, her properties on Essex, Diagon Alley, and Hogsmeade, and the Family Estate in Scotland commonly named The Garden."

The whispers returned, and Blaise looked around to try and get a feeling of his sentence. He remembers his mother doing the same, though he only assisted to one of her nine trials. Her perfume of raspberry, white roses and sweet almonds comforted him, even if the last time he remembered breathing in the scent was when he found her dead in her bed, with an empty vial of Eternal Sleep Draught in the nightstand and a half-eaten bar of chocolate at its side.

The accusing parts went to the small, stage-like podium and said their part. Blaise ignored them for the most part, and he focused on the subtle but constant presence that was somehow calling him to it. A recess was called before Blaise identifyed the source of that presence, wondering if it might have been a particularly powerful witch or wizard.

He found out when he was aproached by Harry Potter.

His guards tensed up, but a reassuring smile and some words from the Savior were enough to let them speak privately without their meddling. Blaise smirked when Potter turned towards him and grinned. There was something strange in Potter's eyes.

"We have something to settle, Blaise," Potter told him. His name on Potter's lips sounded like a blaspheme, and nothing appealed to Blaise more than the sensation of the forbidden being right in front of him.

"We never spoke during seven years at Hogwarts, Potter," he spat. "What could we have to settle?"

Potter smirked, bringing his hand to his chin and scratching it with faked casualness. Blaise noticed the slightly pointed index finger of Potter, directed at Minister Kinglsley and the other two Interrogators.

"He is convinced of your innocence," Potter confessed. "Because he thinks someone else killed your wife."

Blaise chortled, attracting the guards' eyes. "I don't see how that's a problem, Potter."

"To you, at least," Potter said. "The guilty party might want to keep you as the lone suspect."

Blaise's eyes narrowed. Why would Potter kill his wife. if indeed he was the killer?

"I didn't care for Teri," Blaise admitted, cautiously speaking so that only Potter could hear him and positioning himself so that no one could read his lips. He knew Potter had some spell going, because the guards' loud breathing was no longer audible. Huh, he might have casted it wandlessly after his not so subtle chuckling. "And to be honest I would have ended up killing her before she could notice how her money kept flowing out of her vaults. But why would you, the Savior and Husband of the Year, kill sweet Teri when she did nothing wrong?"

Potter raised his hand, and time seemed to freeze. The guards were immobile, and even Minister Shaklebolt stood still as a statue.

"Was your other spell not enough?"

"Not for this," Potter said and he approached Blaise, standing right in front of him. Then Potter did the unthinkable and pressed a kiss to Blaise's lips. Both men smirked.

"Sorry, Potter, but I'm grieving for my poor wife who was brutally murdered in our own home," Blaise called with a sad, mocking face. "Try again in a year, when the mourning has passed."

"That was just an apology, Blaise," Potter told him. "Because I thought it unfair to be sent to prison in someone else's stead when you didn't even know what their motives were."

Blaise laughter echoed in the unnaturally silent room. "And a kiss fixes everything?"

Potter was the one who chuckled now. "You should really be more attentive, Blaise. That was not a kiss but a mark. One I give to those whom I owe something."

Potter stepped back and the room was suddenly alive again.

"What do you owe me, Potter?"

His question received a shake of Harry's head.

"Your liberty, Blaise. And you can be sure I would unleash either hurricane or firestorm to free you. It's the honorable thing."

Harry Potter walked away, losing himself in the stands where people were sitting once again, waiting for the trial to restart.

Blaise didn't find it odd when he was convicted, even if the accusing had no evidence and the Minister himself pushed for a light sentence instead of Azkaban.

He remained silent, ocassionaly looking to the green eyes that shone in the stands. Blaise smirked, looking straight at Potter when the Minister announced his imprisonment.

When he was finally left in the small cell, without his wand and only the company of darkness and a strange sensation tingling on his lips, Potter's voice echoed in his head.

"You'll be out by the full moon," it said. "And we'll be even."

Even? Blaise doubted they would ever be even because who would prevent Potter from doing the same again? He laughed in the darkness, basking in the irony of the self-proclaimed Dumbledore's man killing just because he could and framing others from the crime.

And still, all he could really think about were Potter's lips.


End file.
